Supermundane!
by Vampiggie
Summary: SPNHighschool AU. Dean is stuck grading the homework of the damned in Mr. Alastair's math class...until one afternoon a socially inept yet oddly alluring stranger grips his hall pass tight and raises him from third period. A member of Samuel Colt High's Acapella team, Castiel Schmirnoff begins the construction of a More Profound Bond with the cynical, damaged student in his charge.
1. CHAPTER ONE: SALVATION

Dean had been in hell for 40 minutes. In hell, 40 minutes was like 40 years. He stared blankly as a demonic figure that had somehow managed to get a teaching license drew a large circle on the chalkboard in slow motion. His red chalk shivered and screeched into the morning mists of time.

The ferris wheel problem.

It all seemed to come back to him, then. Dean looked back down at the math homework he was grading for Mr. Alastair, trying to forget the torture that was algebra class; the hours spent drawing cosines and sines on tearstained graph paper. He tried not to imagine dramatic movie music playing as Mr. Alastair gestured at an equation, smiling at the despair and sadness oozing from his failing students. But when Dean looked down at the 4/10 he had just written on a student's homework he knew that Mr. Alastair was not wholly to blame. He, Dean Winchester, had become a monster.

Dean glanced up again when the door opened, and the few students that were still aware of their surroundings looked up to see the most beautiful dude Dean had ever laid his squishy viewing chunks on.

His black hair was majestically tousled as if he had just arrived by sexicopter, dressed in a pedophiley trench coat. "Excuse me," he said as his big blue eyes scanned the room. They were like blue jays, singing to Dean songs of tranquility he hadn't felt since he had hugged his long dead mother. His eyes almost watered trying to hold the beauty of this majestic stranger. "Is there a Dean Winchester in here? Mr. Shurley needs to speak to him."

Mr. Alastair frowned, pausing in the middle of his equation creation. "Why doesn't Chuck just call?"

The intruder stared unblinkingly into the math teacher's eyes. "Mr. Shurley lost control of his Diet Dr. Mountain Cola, and the spill destroyed his phone and most of his electronics. He requested that I come escort Dean Winchester down to his office personally." Dean slowly got up, grabbed his backpack and squeezed himself between the chairs of students. Assuming that Dean was indeed Dean, the trench-coated mystery dude nodded at Dean and followed Dean out of the room. Dean had never Deaned so hard in his life.

After being lead a safe distance away from the classroom, Dean started to speak, but his rescuer frowned and put a finger on Dean's lips. "Sssh," he intoned. Dean stared at the finger. The weirdo kept it there for a whole ten seconds before nodding, satisfied that he had successfully done a thing. He grabbed Dean, looking up and down the empty hallway, and shoved him through a door.

It was a broom closet. Dean was standing in a broom closet. His awkward new acquaintance closed the door carefully behind them and whispered to Dean, "I asked you here on false pretense, Dean. The vice principal does not need you in his office."

Dean nodded. "I figured as much when you touched my face and shoved me in a closet." With three more tablespoons of sass, he added, "why did you decide to rescue me from math class, anyway? Who are you?"

The kid looked into his eyes and dramatically lowered his voice. "I'm Castiel Schmirnoff, Vice Co-President Captain Head of the Acapella team. I'm the one that gripped your hall pass tight and raised you from third period."

"Yeah. I know. I was there. Two seconds ago." Dean stared at the guy. He, like any high schooler, had his loyalties, and these Acapella people were not to be trusted. Of course this pedophile weirdo was one of them! Jo had told Dean that the Acapella team sacrificed a goat under the bleachers every month. He had once overheard one cafeteria lady telling another that the Acapeople paid for their school meals with circular bits of metal with bears hand-carved on them. Once, Jo had stolen a piece of an Acaperson's birthday cake only to discover it was made of candle wax.

His eyes narrowed at Mr. Pedophile. He wasn't his math savior. He was a candle-eating jackass. "Great, dude. Why are we in a broom closet?"

Castiel never turned his dramatic gaze from Dean's eyes. "Because you should not be assistant teaching in a math class, Dean."

"That's how I feel about it, man. Why do you care?"

"Because in freshman year you sang Led Zeppelin at the talent show. The Garrison needs your vocal abilities, Dean. The Acapocalypse is nigh."


	2. CHAPTER TWO: CLOSETED CONVERSATIONS

"Acapocalypse? You mean that douchey competition those creepy singing kids freak out about every year?" Dean scowled menacingly like an angered menacing bear. "You can't mean-"

"We need a victory, Dean! Mr. Shurley might cut our funding if we come in last another year. We cannot afford to lose these next 66 sing offs."

Dean reached for the closet door, trying not to trip on brooms or a copy of Busty Asian Beauties the school janitor had misplaced. "But I'm a Math TA, dude! If Mr. Alastair even knew I was having this conversation... You know how the rivalry between the Acapella team and the math department is... "

Castiel nodded wisely in agreement. "The Mathletes and the Acapeoples have spilt each others' blood since the day this school was built."

It was well known that in 1666, the school's very foundations were constructed in a fog of melodious death threats and angry recitations of equations.

"The Principal is exempting you from your last math credit, Dean."

Dean froze, hand on doorknob, eyes on door, kidney in lurch, armpit on vacation in South America. "Exempt? You mean... I don't have to assistant teach anymore!?" He swooshed around in a swoop of hope and glory.

"Good things do happen, Dean."

"Not in my experience."

"What's the matter?" Castiel asked. He stepped in a bit closer in a creepy close way. "You don't think you deserve to be saved?"

In response, Dean wiped a bit of lint off his shirt. "But why?" he asked it, avoiding a trenchcoated gaze.

"Because the Principal commanded it. Because we have work for you."

Dean frowned. He hadn't believed in the Principal since he was a tiny freshman. School legend had it that the Principal was a ghost or an invisible minotaur or a flatbread in New Mexico or a pair of cunning hyenas that could type 150 words a minute from the boiler room. But it didn't matter what block of cheese the Principal was carved from; if he decreed that Dean was free of trigonometric functions, Dean could end his graphic calculator the way his father had taught him to solve all his problems: salt and burn the bitch.

"Mr. Shurley was going to tell Mr. Alastair as soon as he got his phone working again, but the Garrison sent me to recruit you personally." Dean's manly peach fuzz arm hairs vibrated in viscous curiosity.

"Why would the Principal care so much about a damn singy thingy?" Dean growled suspiciously, unwilling to embrace his newfound freedom.

"Dean," Castiel said in a serious tone, "the Principal works in mysterious ways."


	3. CH3: HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A FREED DEAN

When Dean walked into their hotel room, Sam knew good news was afoot from the look on his face.

Dean walked right up to where he sat at a short little table- Sam was doing his chem homework- took out a piece of graph paper from his pocket, shoved it in his mouth, and chewed.

And then he spat it out because that shit is nasty. It's covered in ink.

"Dean!" Sam dropped his pencil as he watched soggy bits of paper spew from Dean's mouth. "What are you doing home early? I thought you had grading to do!"

"The Principal"**-**Dean spat out the word- "decided that he has bigger plans for me. Mr. Alastair has to release me from math if I help the Garrison win that Accaaccpcpcpaaca thing."

Sam raised his furry, barely pubescent moose eyebrows. "The Garrison? You were saved by the Acapeople? Wow!"

"Not saved, Sam!" Dean should have known Sam would have respect for the fucked up goat killers. His brother had weird hobbies that Dean didn't always understand or know about. "I have to sing for them…and probably kill a rabbit and paint my face with its insides."

"I'm pretty sure Jo made up that stuff, Dude." Sam bent down to pick up his pencil. "Well, most of it, at least. I definitely saw blood stains on that Zachariah kid's clothes yesterday." Zachariah was in charge of the team. If Castiel was the Vice Co-President Captain Head, Dean supposed Zachariah might be the Leady Lead Captain Man President Dude or some such shit.

Dean ignored him, sitting down with a stack of papers. Castiel had given him sheet music and the impression that he was raised by humorless robots that didn't own a television. He flipped through the pages experimentally. "Wow, there's a lot of Ke$ha in here." He flipped through a bit more. "And a surprising amount of Marilyn Manson." Sam, losing interest, started scribbling stupid school things, almost as if he enjoyed doing it.

Dean looked at his brother with a brotherly bro gaze of concern. How much chemistry homework could one class have? Dean worried that he shouldn't be wasting his time singing Ke$ha with a bunch of bunny killers. He was a senior, and did not have time for this tomfoolery; soon he'd graduate and pursue the family business where his father had left it off. But then he remembered something that his new robotic teammate had said to him.

_"You're not meant for math, Dean. You are destined to do great deeds that include singing pop songs and heavy metal in front of an intoxicated high school audience. No longer must you correct the coursework of the damned."_

The first of their 66 sing offs was tomorrow, and Dean had to get to memorizing Ke$ha unless he wanted to be grading math homework again. Looking out a window dramatically, he murmured into the windy mid-afternoon, 100% heroic pose, "Tik tok on the mother fucking clock, bitches. Try taking the tangent of this here badass." Sam sniggered from the kitchen.

CHAPTER FOUR


	4. DEAN DOUBTS

Dean had taken to eating lunch with Castiel.

"It's not that I like you, man," Dean explained to him, playing with the french fries he'd bought off the 99¢ menu at Biggersons. "It's just, I mean, Sammy needs his space, I guess."

Castiel "ate lunch" leaning against his locker, which meant that Dean ate sitting against the next-door locker of a stranger. When that stranger had earlier attempted to retrieve his lunch from his locker, Dean had thrown french fries at him until he had left. Then he retrieved the french fries and ate them off the ground because, ya know, dude's on a budget.

"I'd be more worried if I were you, Dean," Castiel said. "The chemistry lab is not a good location to spend time, let alone eat meals. Only mathletes do that, and worse."

Dean sighed. "He said he needs to spend extra time on his chemistry lab. It sounds legit. But maybe it isn't. And this lab partner of his, Ruby? She's sketch, man. Ultra sketch _craycray_. Ash told me that Jo said that she snorts crystal meth in the girl's bathroom." Castiel frowned at the thought of such lawlessness.

"Dean, why are you eating lunch with me? Why aren't you eating with that Jo who always lies to you?"

Dean shrugged. "I dunno, man, I mean, I usually eat lunch with Sam but he has a Pokemon battle with the chess club or something... and I saw you eating alone here.. and I thought..." He started shoving his french fries into his mouth. "I'm doing you a favor here! Aren't you tired of being a weirdo that sits alone at lunch? I mean, you don't even have food. You're just sitting against this locker staring at me. And Cas, not for nothing, but the last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid."

Luckily, the bell rang, interrupting accidental sexual tension. Dean hurriedly got up, accidentally smacking his elbow on some nearby guy who was approaching the locker. "Oh, my bad dude. Come on, Cas! We gotta practice for our next performance."

Castiel got up, and Dean followed him, gathering books into his bag and french fries into his mouth. "Dude, don't you have textbooks or something you need to get? Like, a bag?"

Castiel looked at him with a face that meant shrug.

"Are you actually a student at this school?" Dean asked.

"We have more important matters at hand, Dean. I heard you last night at the performance... You forgot the lyrics halfway through the song."

Dean stopped walking and looked at Castiel. "Cut me a break, Cas! That one guy on the other team kept shouting that he was going to eat us like ground hamburger meat before he started singing that Ozzy Osbourne mashup. What was that all about? Is that _normal_ for this sorta thing? Who DOES that!?"

Castiel sighed. "You shouldn't have let your opponent distract you, Dean. Our enemies will often try to get in our heads. It is quite normal for an acapella competition."

"But he actually brought the hamburger meat, Cas!"

"We bested him, Dean. Do not worry about the past. Do not forget the lyrics. Do not relinquish your jazz hands. This is the Acaway."

"But..." Dean's voice lowered. "Justin Bieber, Cas? I thought we were the good guys here."

Castiel turned away from Dean, shadows lingering down his face like spilt ice cream. "We must do what we can for our school."


	5. SABOTAGE

"Hello, Dean."

Dean jumped a full foot in the air backwards from his locker. "Cas?!" Sam, who had been walking with him, laughed, and made sure to do so in his brother's face. 100% siblings.

Cas was squatting on top of his locker with a serious face. "We need to talk."

"Whatever you say, dude," Dean said grumpily, picking up his textbooks from where he had dropped them in fucked up shock. "If you're gonna hang out on top of lockers, yes, we're gonna need to talk."

"You're Castiel?" Sam approached the locker, hand stretched out and and a tiny bit up for his new friend to shake. This was not hard for Sam, Locker-Tall Mammoth of the Modern Age. Castiel looked at the hand for a second before deciding that he could shake it. He did so without losing balance. Sam was pretty damn impressed. Dean walked away. He couldn't remember his locker combo anyway. Sam followed. Castiel slid off the locker and joined the follow party. A follow party is a party where people follow each other.

"Our next opponent is Samhain High School's acapella team," he said to Dean, walking beside him. "So we have been ordered to sabotage the other team." Castiel used the same blank tone he spoke with when telling Dean to stop throwing french fries at him.

"You're… cheating?" Sam looking at Dean with shiny moose eyes. Sam polished his moral compass every night before going to bed. He looked at Dean with an accusing face that said, _You've gone from grading math to cheating in a singing competition. Are you going to start poaching gorilla babies next?_

"But we're great singers... Why?" Dean asked as he contorted his nostrils around angrily.

"Samhain High's team hasn't participated in acapella warfare for 600 years, but in their prime, they won every event they sang in. They spent the entire summer honing their dancing skills in order to best all their singing-focused competition. Uriel is confident that he can reach the enemy's water supply. They will all rely on drinking fountains after a busy day's training."

"Who's Uriel? Wait... water supply?!"

"Uriel is what you might call a... specialist. He bought a four pound bucket of rat poison on Amazon for $14.49."

"What? He what?" Dean had to pull this conversation to a dramatic Full Stop. "We're poisoning a _whole team_?!"

Castiel sighed, glancing away from Dean and back frustratedly. "No, Dean. We're poisoning a whole school. Poisoning only the team would call attention to our illicit activities."

"Cas, give me one good reason we should poison these Samheinous losers."

"We have orders."

"Orders? You're such a tool, Cas!"

"Look, even if you can't understand it, have faith. The plan is just."

Sam opened the gaping cave of height that was his mouth and released the bats that were the words, "wait, are you seriously going to poison people?!" before Dean covered his mouth in an interrupting fashion. "I'll handle this, Sam."

Dean scrunched up his face at the manboy he had considered to be a chill dude just moments ago. "Fuck that plan, man. What you don't know about me, Cas, is that I got some moves. I'm going to choreograph the most kickass dance the world has ever seen. We can do this."

Castiel stared deeply into Dean's eyes at that, and Dean wondered again if this was really a hetero-not-sexual tension he was feeling from looking into this mysterious boy's glistening vision-blobs. Sam looked away, embarrassed for the two of them.

"And how do you expect the rest of the team to agree to this?" Castiel asked.

"That's where you come in."

"What song?"

Dean only grinned.

As Castiel walked away, Sam gave Dean a Look. Dean sighed. "Look Sammy, I'm sorry the Garrison isn't made of cool singy guys like you wanted, but we don't win all our sing offs with rat poison, I promise."


	6. CHAPT SIX: FAILURE AND FRIENDSHIP MAGMA

"Damnit Winchester!" Uriel threw off his green lantern mask and slammed the door open as he left the school. "You said these Moves were Guaranteed."

Dean frowned, following Uriel and the rest of the Acapella team into the cold evening air. It tasted of defeat and residual pot smoke.

"We don't have to win every sing off," Zachariah said calmly. "Just enough to prove to Principal Shurley that we're a team worth funding." He was enjoying his Superman mask, Dean could tell.

"We've lost too many already! We're wasting our time with- oh, here's my car." Uriel took out his little automatic car doohickey, and with a beep beep, he was slidin' in that fancy thang and he was outta there.

Dean sighed. The other Acapellans wandered into the parking lot as he slid his own keys out of his pocket. His key ring had a toy solider dangling from it. If only it could shoot his enemies dead like rat poison. Not that rat poison should ever be used like that. On the bright side, he was going to bike home wearing a Green Arrow costume, which made him probably the baddest bad ass ever.

"Please don't say 'I told you so,'" Dean said when he saw Castiel. His teammate, dressed like Black Canary, was leaning against the bike racks in a pair of shocking fishnets. Dean took a moment to compare Castiel to his own beautiful black banana handled bike. "Is poisoning water fountains really the way to win a singing competition, Cas?"

Castiel smiled sadly. "You misunderstand me, Dean. I was praying that you'd thwart Uriel's plan."

Dean looked up, surprised. "You pray? That's gay, man."

Castiel ignored what had to be the silliest thing Dean Winchester had ever said. "I.. I'm not a tool, Dean. I have questions, I have doubts. I don't know what's right or wrong anymore, whether you passed or failed here. But in the coming months you will have more decisions to make. I don't envy the weight that's on your shoulders, Dean. I truly don't."

"Um, Cas. I don't really care about arts funding. I've just been singing so I don't have to grade math homework. Calm down dude. It isn't the end of the world."

"The world just wasn't ready for the dance sensation that was your DC comics acapella rendition of the Eye of the Tiger, Dean."

"Well, yeah. I know that NOW. How're ya getting home, man?"

Cas shrugged. "I like walking."

"Want a ride?" Dean patted the handlebars of his bike. "There's room for two on my Baby."

This wasn't necessarily true, but the gesture warmed Castiel's heart like cocoa filled with magma. Loving friendship magma. Loving heterosexual straight friendship magma. He smiled.

"I'll have to accept your offer. ...Uriel was my ride." He sat down on the handlebars, careful not to kick the front wheel.

"You comfy?" Dean asked.

"No." Castiel turned to look at him, face serious as a hurricane. "Can you drop me off by the dry cleaner's?"


	7. CHAPTER SEVEN: THEY COME FROM THE VENTS

The day after his embarrassing loss, Dean walked up to his locker to find Ruby and Sam there. Did Sam really need to be spending so much time with his lab partner? Dean tried to calm the paranoid frog that lives within all of us. _Rrrrrrribbbit. Sam is going to pursue chemistry in college and spend the rest of his life in a lab coat laughing like a supervillain. Rrrrrrribbit._

"Dean, guess what Ruby heard. Ruby, tell Dean what you heard."

Dean looked at Ruby expectantly. Ruby looked back, her optical mushbits shining with the sass of a thousand moons. "Mr. Alastair is looking for some girl named Anna. She's been skipping math and he's going to give her detention... or worse. She's missed a week of school now."

"So?" Dean decided that he didn't like this Ruby. She was deciding the same thing. That she disliked him, not that she disliked herself. She probably loved herself, Dean thought. She was probably one of those people that posted millions of selfies on Instagram, all of them exactly the same expression.

"So," Sam interrupted, "she's on the run from your least favorite teacher. How could we not help her?"

Alastair was hunting down some innocent student... Damnit, Dean knew he had to help. He could see her name in his mind's eye, in sad pencil written on graph paper lined with sorrow... sorrow with a domain and range that included _all _real numbers. He had graded her math homework.

Wait a minute! She was that one hot redhead from third period! He ran down the hallway to the computer lab. He was gonna tap dat.

"Um, bye?" Sam called after him.

"Don't worry about him," Ruby said. "You have more practicing to do." She took a periodic table out of her book bag. "Let's talk about Avogadro's number."

Dean spent first period sifting through all of Samuel Colt High School's Annas on Facebook, squinting at profile pictures, and finally messaged an Anna Milton he decided was her. She IMed in response, "meet me on the third floor."

After walking up and down the third floor twice, a strange hissing voice called his name, making him spin around as a lynx does in a wizard duel. Dean saw a pale thin hand slowly wriggle out of a vent high on the wall. It sunk its long fingernails into the screws holding the top of the vent door to the wall, and with a creepy ass squeaking noise, twisted them off. The vent door swung down, revealing Ana, dirty on the face and a bit ripped up on the shirt. "Come up in here and we'll talk," she rasped. "We have much to discuss."

"Um." Dean looked around, surprised that nobody was poking their head out of a classroom at the horror movie noises. "We could just talk down here."

"Our enemies are everywhere, Dean."

"We could find an empty classroom."

"I don't think you understand the situation I am in, Dean. I can't walk these halls during the day."

"Um, I think you totally can, so jump down here or I won't help you avoid Alastair. Why are you up there anyway? Like seriously, the fuck."

"But that's the thing. I don't even know why Alastair is looking to give me detention! I don't remember skipping math class. I don't even remember having math class!"

"What, do you have amnesia or something? Lost your memory? _Seriously?_" Dean was no longer gonna tap dat. Anna slid out of the vent, and when she stood next to Dean, the heavy stench of pot stood right next to both of them.

"Wait, are you just getting stoned in the vents during math class? That's why you don't remember math class?" Up close, Dean could see her eyes were as red as the everlasting oceans of Mars.

"I don't know anymore," Anna whispered.

Anna perked up her ears, staring with alarm into empty space. "Second period is almost over." She grabbed Dean and climbed back up the walls using his shoulders as a ladder.

"Wait!" Dean said as she crawled back into the vent. "How long have you been up there? What do you eat? Are you the reason the entire school has smelled like pot for the last week?"

But she was gone, and the bell had rung. Dean stared at the wall, wondering if she ate rats. He sighed and headed off to his next class. It was across the school, but hey, it wouldn't be the first time he was late to Latin.

By the time he reached the class, the hallways were empty, and a familiar trench coated figure was standing directly in front of the door.


End file.
